Causality
by hiding duh
Summary: Jin/Shion. What gives purpose to behavior is not always rational, irrational, or imaginary.
1. Material

**Author's Note**: Totally experimental. Can't let Rubedo and Albedo have all the fun. 

Also, yeah, I know. But we're talking about a universe in which you can toss Revive M at stuff, so...

* * *

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_

_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

—Pablo Neruda, 'Sonnet XVII'

**Prologue**

* * *

000.

* * *

It was odd how inconvenient reunions could be. 

Typically, when a man confessed certain things, said goodbye, and, well... _died_, stumbling upon the one person who had probably deciphered the confession part was altogether unseemly.

"Jin?"

With practiced grace, Jin leapt from his perch atop a crumbling mausoleum. "Shion."

Anxious, Shion slowly glanced behind her, at the barren landscape of Lost Jerusalem, then leveled her eyes with his.

"Are you... are you haunting this place?" she asked incredulously, pointing at the uneven row of upturned gravestones around him.

Jin leaned against the nearest supporting structure. "Temporarily guarding, actually."

Shion lowered her weapon.

"Did you get kicked out?" she asked suspiciously.

Calm, Jin crossed his arms. "_From_?"

Shion paused.

Then, awkwardly, she took a tentative step toward him.

"So... you... you're alive, Jin?"

With a soft smile, he tilted his head and came closer.

"I... doubt it," he said evenly.

For a second, he could've sworn her hands had reached out a tiny bit.

"So, what happened?" she said instead, stubbornly glaring at his blood-stained chest.

A disapproving little frown tugged at Jin's lips. "I'm tempted to believe this was Yeshua's departing offering."

Scowling, Shion averted her eyes.

"I felt it, you know," she accused, a few locks of hair fluttering about her cheeks.

Somehow, it was longer than he remembered.

"Felt what?"

She fidgeted, clearing her throat.

"Jin," she asked finally, as though the question had been lodged in her throat for quite some time. "What was it? In the end? What... got you?"

Instantly, Jin's features softened.

This part—this part he still remembered.

"Un," he replied. "An Armaros."

Shion was silent for a moment.

"That's..." she murmured kindly, then segued into a furious, "embarrassing!"

Before he could help it, Jin was chuckling.

Then—out of habit—he slowly set off, guiding her down a faded, foggy path, expertly weaving between ancient city ruins, and surreptitiously glancing at her stiff posture and dazed expression.

"Why are you here alone, Shion?" he asked with slow, troubled hesitance.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, and pointedly ignored his curious stares.

"Allen..." she waved her hand dismissively, "...is collecting data. Somewhere."

Jin faltered.

"Glad to see he's taking care of you like I instructed him to," he recited dutifully, then opened his mouth to continue.

A small tug interrupted him.

Shion's fingers tangled around his sash.

"Going to ask this before I wake up," she mumbled, "Jin. About what you said—"

A distant signal light turned both their faces westward.

He wasn't entirely sure which one of them had been meant to wake up now.

Shion tapped her receiver, squinting at the flattened horizon.

"Chief," came the garbled squeak. "We're relocating north. Please return shortly!"

Pausing briefly to think, Shion bit her lip, then gave Jin a purposeful nod.

"Okay," she began briskly, "let's go."

She was three meters away when she noticed Jin wasn't following.

"Jin?"

With a slight smile, Jin gestured at the lurking abyss of a ravaged world that had laid hidden for centuries.

"_Where_?" he asked.

Shion blinked, then strode confidently forward. "To the ship, Jin. I'm _clearly_ awake, and you're _clearly_ here. I'm not leaving you behind."

She took a few steps before adding, "Even if you did lose to an Armaros. Grandpa's probably still spinning in his grave over such an atrocity."

Amused, Jin shook his head. "I don't think it's entirely poss—"

A slender finger poked his shoulder.

"There," she nodded. "Real. There's room on the ship. Let's go, I'm hungry."

"Shion," he warned.

"No," she snapped, and said, in a wounded, guarded voice raw with some strangely familiar emotion. "You asked to be my brother one last time."

Uncomfortable, Jin winced.

"This _is_ that one last time, Jin."

They stood in silence for a long moment, then cleared their throats simultaneously.

Having finally found his voice, Jin patted her shoulder awkwardly, and said, "Shion, if—"

"Chief!"

Shion glanced toward the blurry shadow speeding toward them.

"Chief," panted Allen, skidding to a halt and resting his palms on his knees. "We were starting to worry!"

Quickly, Shion batted Jin's hand away, then smiled happily at Allen. "The only person you should be worrying about is my idiot brother."

Allen blinked, lifting his head.

"Uh... Chief?" he stammered, eyes darting about.

Shion narrowed her eyes at Jin, continuing, "Let's just get him to the ship, and have the Professor run an analysis—"

Allen straightened with wariness quite unlike him.

"Chief," he began slowly.

Shion's smile widened.

"Chief, there's no one here."

* * *

001.

* * *

Shion knew. 

It had to be genetic.

A recessive gene, perhaps? A mutation in the transcription process? A missing peptide?

That last part of her corporeality, the one that didn't belong to a previous life or a an astral existence, was defective. There had to be a notch on one of her chromosomes that specialized unconditionally in self-loathing, self-deprecation, and self-doubt, respectively.

Her dead brother was sitting—the very picture of nonchalant composure—on the edge of her bed, hands splayed across the hilt of his sword.

She'd spent an agonizing hour afraid to blink for fear of seeing him fade away like Nephilim, but here he still was, staring at her.

"Would you stop that?"

Jin raised an eyebrow. "Just admiring the wall art. Men's quarters had none."

Shion tapped her chin, seated opposite him. "You've got a point."

"I should've spent more of my life fighting gender inequality, I suppose."

Shion ignored him.

"No, your point being that Elsa let you in here," she offered. "Which means she can't read your bioelectric patterns accurately. Or that you're not male anymore."

Jin shot her an offended glance.

Undaunted, Shion ran her fingers over the holographic panel in her lap. "I don't even understand Lost Jerusalem yet, so how am I supposed to help _you_?"

Jin sighed, rising slowly, his sword—his very real sword—resting against the bed.

"Shion. You should return me to my previous location, and worry about the mission," he said seriously.

"I've got ten thousand years or so to save the universe," she replied at once, steadfastly ignoring his gaze. "You're not a Testament, right?"

Jin gave her a pointed look.

Shion smiled to herself.

Yeah, definitely genetic.

* * *

002.

* * *

"Chief—" 

Jin tried nudging the communicator off the desk.

"Chief—"

With a glance at Shion's sleeping face—an undignified sight any older brother could appreciate—Jin crouched down.

"It's been fifteen minutes," he told her. "You're going to give him an ulcer."

Shion burrowed deeper under her covers.

"Chief—I—I'm coming in!"

The sensor crackled, the lights flickered, and soon, Allen was indeed storming through the door.

Jin found it relatively surprising that his hand had immediately reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Chi—oh. Sleeping."

Fascinated, Jin watched as Allen nervously looked about the room, then quickly pecked Shion's cheek, and bolted out of the room.

Jin's grip tightened.

Yes, he'd charged the man with the care of his only sister. Yes, he understood the man loved his only sister. Yes, he realized the man was most likely fulfilling his duty of taking care of Jin's only sister.

But he was clearly not doing it honorably.

And whether real or not, the peace Jin had felt when he'd been drifting off to Lost Jerusalem was quickly disappearing.

* * *

003.

* * *

The hangar was the only place where Shion appeared sane. 

Elsa's crew was used to her outbursts, of course, but this was one hallucination she thought of keeping to herself for a while.

Just until she figured out whether Jin really was keeping her company, or if her subconscious had somehow summoned him due to those... unresolved issues and such.

She snuck a quick glance at his back as he stared at Reuben's deserted platform.

Unresolved issues, definitely.

"I'm off!" she called out.

He turned around, frowning. "Alone? Again?"

A piercing sensation lanced though her, a sole image of KOS-MOS flashing before her eyes.

Bristling, Shion headed off toward the escalator. "No, I'm taking you with me."

Jin appeared startled for a moment, then joined her without a word.

Lost Jerusalem spread before them within seconds.

A queue of collapsed structures lined the bordering hills; steel roofs flattened and barely protruding from the dirt; ancient vehicles cracked and rusted; muddy puddles of waste glinting in the sunlight.

Not for the first time, Shion wondered.

_Where_?

Where in this nothingness lied the answer? If the universe decided to unravel tomorrow, she'd have to let it. Second Miltia would be gone—the Immigrant bloodlines unrecoverable, the souls forever asleep, the purpose forfeited.

"You have plenty of time, Shion," he murmured, watching the burying grounds before them.

Startled, Shion looked up.

When had they gotten back here?

"Jin!"

He turned around slowly, then smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not leaving."

She lowered her outstretched hand and cleared her throat. "No, I know. You were just... there's a... thought you'd trip over it..."

Jin narrowed his eyes slightly. "This way."

Practically shuffling her feet, Shion trailed behind him.

"The catacombs are narrow," he added thoughtfully, waiting for her to slide the stone away from the tomb's slanted archway.

She took a deliberate step forward.

"And dark."

"Jin," she huffed. "I'm not claustrophobic."

Jin caught her shoulder. "You forgot."

Shion frowned. "What?"

"You either forgot or are ignoring the fact that I saw what happened at Labyrinthos."

Irritated, she shook him off and marched ahead. "That wasn't real. You either forgot or are ignoring that fact."

His voice echoed oddly in the narrow passageway.

"Shion. I'm sorry."

"Work on your memory if you're sorry."

"For not getting there on time."

Shion paused.

Grateful that her face was adequately hidden by the shadows, she descended the tiled stairway, squinting at the tiny fleck of light ahead.

Whether it was the fact that he'd died, or the fact that she didn't—something about Jin's affections had changed. He'd never apologized to her before, not like this. He'd never broached the subject, not with such sobriety. And she'd never thought she'd be this upset to hear it.

Two days after stumbling upon him, she was seriously considering locking him in one of the tombs.

"What would you have changed, Jin?"

Caught off guard, Jin glanced at her, then squared his shoulders. "I... would've given you the family that you needed."

"I didn't _need_ a family," she corrected, inspecting the elevated panel in the center of the small alcove they'd slipped into. "I _wanted_ one."

"I was irresponsible," he conceded.

Shion carefully nudged the panel, and the northern wall rumbled to life, parting to reveal a hidden passage. "And lazy."

Jin grinned. "And lazy."

Annoyed to find herself grinning back, Shion advanced through the mausoleum, wondering briefly if she was upset that he'd been allowed to—literally—invade her most painful memories, or that she hadn't been permitted to reciprocate.

Then again, Jin's most painful memory probably consisted of losing a game of chess to Margulis.

* * *

004.

* * *

When he'd been alive, there were very few anchors tying him to life. 

There was duty, of course. Sometimes, loyalty to a cause or an alliance. Most often, a string of obligations—all of which he'd settled before he passed.

And there'd been a constant inertia bound to his sense of reality.

And though his sense of reality had been skewed for days after the final battle—when he'd been under the impression he was walking through purgatory, haunted with none of the voices from his past—now, he kept experiencing short bursts of clarity.

Shion had always had a purpose.

He'd first realized when she refused to pray at their parents' graves. Where he'd been accepting, she'd been furious. Where he'd been lenient, she'd been unforgiving. Where he'd been complacent, she'd been assertive.

And over the years, Jin's acceptance had faded to a dull awareness.

Shion's outrage, on the other hand, had grown into tangible grief.

"So, there aren't any Gnosis here?"

Jin shook his head. "None that I've seen."

He could see the wheels turning.

"Does that mean this place is immune to the dispersal phenomenon?" she mused to no one in particular. "Or perhaps that Lost Jerusalem has a permanent Hilbert Effect buffering its plane? And maybe prolonged exposure to it dissolves the sodium chloride in—"

Jin watched her from the shadows, feeling strangely cognizant.

The inertia seemed to be clearing, and in its place, there was something extraordinarily new.

A purpose.

* * *

005.

* * *

"This should feel familiar to me, shouldn't it?" 

Allen quickly held up his hands. "N-no, Chief! No one expects you to remember everything—"

Lost in thought, Shion nodded. "If my consciousness is bound to this place, I _should_ know."

"But—you found Lost Jerusalem," he insisted, placing his elbows on the table. "Isn't that enough?"

Shion considered him for a moment. "Allen. It doesn't surprise you that I found it so quickly? So easily?"

"Nothing about the Chief surprises me."

An awkward silence ensued.

Only to be broken by a deep, soft chuckle.

Shion's head snapped up.

Penitent, Jin held up a hand in lieu of an apology.

"A-anyway," began Allen nervously, "if you're not too bu—"

"—I think I'm going to take a short break. Would it be alright if we remained docked here for a while?"

Allen scratched the back of his head. "Uh. Of course. Any particular reason, Chief?"

Suddenly sheepish, Shion rose from the table. "No, just... intuition. I think."

Allen nodded, gathering the data and seeing her out into the hallway. "Um, good... good night, then, Chief."

She waited until she was in the next room before she spun on her heel to say, "It's not funny!"

Jin looked entirely too composed. "I never implied it was."

Not at all convinced, Shion hid a yawn, her eyes watering.

"Do you sleep?" she asked abruptly.

"I haven't yet," he replied as though he'd been expecting the question.

"So you're not tired?"

"I'm not alive, Shion."

Shion's brows drew together in thought. "You're not _dead_, Jin."

He leaned against the glass panel next to her bed. "Just because you can see me, doesn't mean—"

Her hand slid to his cheek.

Jin winced and flattened himself against the panel.

"And _touch_ you," she added attentively.

"Shion..."

"And hear you." Her fingers slipped away. "And... you think, therefore, you exist."

A small smile escaped his lips. "I owned a bookstore, Shion," he hummed. "Surely, you wouldn't attempt to appropriate someone else's philosophies in front of me."

She suppressed a pout and tentatively touched both his cheeks, cradling his face in her hands.

While she could reasonably explain most of her deficiencies through inherited, chromosomal causes, this... this was purely a consequence of nurture.

Not that she hadn't touched him before.

She could, after all, vaguely remember pouncing on an irritated fifteen-year-old, who was not the slightest bit impressed by her toddler prowess.

And he'd pushed her out of the way a few times in recent months.

Plus, there were the years of training, during which she frequently ended up pinned beneath him or, less frequently, atop him.

But this kind of contact was uncharted territory.

"The only reason we can see Gnosis on our plane," she told him softly, "is because something is pulling them into our realm."

Jin's fingers wrapped around her wrists, removing her hands from his face.

She promptly rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I'm going to _be_ the something, Jin."

To her surprise, Jin seemed troubled. "Shion, your priorities—"

"—are mine to prioritize."

Looking exhausted, Jin sat on the nearest bunk.

Shion smothered the confusion and the anxiety, then sat on her own bed, fluffing the pillows. "Tired?"

He gave a silent nod, staring at the carpet.

"See?" she asked, pulling the covers back. "One foot in our realm, then."

She could see him hide a grin as he dropped onto his back, arms dangling off the bunk. "Elsa should find this highly inappropriate."

Shion slid off her shoes, then looked up at the ceiling. "Elsa should mind her own business."

When he didn't reply, she brought her attention back to him.

Asleep, he looked... unreal.

She tiptoed towards the bunk, and knelt by his side.

The slow rise and fall of his chest calmed her instantly. The blood, however... not so much.

KOS-MOS was gone. So was chaos. And Kevin. And Mom. And Dad. And Febronia. Cecily. Cathe.

And though she sincerely wanted to embrace her future, there wasn't a single part of her that belonged anywhere but to the past.

Jin, though not a significant part of that past, was the only remnant that she had been granted.

The memories that they never shared—the affections and secrets other siblings seemed to be drowning in—were obstacles she knew they'd never surmount.

But if he eventually chose to let her, she planned to include him in this unfamiliar future awaiting her.

First, of course, she was going to take a nap.

* * *

006.

* * *

He wanted a shower. 

A real shower—with temperatures bordering on dangerous.

Which, admittedly, was particularly odd, considering he thought he was dead.

But the dull ache coiling through his muscles was real. So was the heaviness weighing his limbs down. So was the fine sheen of sweat dampening his back.

Slowly, Jin sat up, stretching.

The blanket slid to his hips.

Dazed, he turned his head to the side.

Shion was curled up on the cot next to his, face half-buried in a pillow.

With a sigh, he tugged his blanket off and draped it over her, catching a glimpse of himself in an adjacent mirror.

He paused.

Was she right?

...one foot in this realm?

After all, he'd _slept_. And more importantly, he'd _woken_ _up_.

He reached out to touch the mirror, expecting to feel nothing but a distorted, unstable texture.

When his fingers touched solid, cold glass, he recoiled.

Inconvenient, indeed.

* * *

007.

* * *

There was no such thing as a morning aboard the Elsa. 

However, there was certainly a groggy sort of disorientation that Shion customarily attributed to waking up. Usually, the impaired part was proportionate to the U-DO part, but this time, something was missing.

Sleepy, Shion cracked open an eye.

"Jin?"

When her mumbling died down, and no reply was forthcoming, she rolled over, rubbing her eyes.

The room was empty.

She bolted upright.

Frantically, she batted at the covers and ran, barefoot, toward the door.

She was out in the hallway and aiming for the nearest automaton before she spotted the neatly folded robes on one of the chairs.

She snuck back in before anyone could spot her behaving like a lunatic, and began to pace around.

Where was he? Only three days in—did he disintegrate? And if so, did he _have_ to fold his clothes before doing so? Was he ever actually here or—

A soft hiss at the back of the quarters brought her attention to the sudden puff of steam tangling around a pair of bare feet.

Jin, who was obviously ill at ease—and obviously tangible enough to be dripping wet—cleared his throat.

"I may need... attire."

Shion burst into laughter.

Cheeks pink, she waved him off and went to rummage through the cache, looking for suitable apparel. When it became pretty clear she would find none, Shion considered her options.

Jr. would probably not be interested in her motives, but Jin was, unfortunately, a few sizes too... tall.

Asking Allen was out of the question, since Jin wearing anything designed by Vector would bring upon an apocalypse.

And if she tried sneaking into the men's quarters to steal from Tony or Hammer or Scott, not only would she confirm their growing suspicions, she'd force Jin to wear... suspenders and sleeveless tank tops and... she wanted to establish a _good_ relationship with her brother.

"Here," she said over her shoulder, handing him Grandfather's old yukata and accompanying accessories.

She could hear the wariness in his voice.

"You don't travel light, then," he concluded rigidly, but accepted.

She waited until the rustling of cloth subsided, then turned around.

He was busy inspecting himself, trying to twist as inconspicuously as possible, smoothing out the kinks. Shion watched him for a moment, strangely content. He looked so natural and comfortable and alive in his grandfather's robes.

She thought about saying as much.

"Better than your loincloth," she said instead, chucking his bloodied clothes into a recycling bin.

To her amusement, he momentarily blanched, then straightened with great pride.

"Past life's transgressions," he grinned.

She kept her expression neutral as she nodded. "One more foot in this realm, Jin."

He brushed past her, still smiling. "How many feet do you think I have?"

"Two," she said at once, and latched onto his elbow. With a soft grunt, she tugged until he bent down enough for her to pull his wet hair into a loose ponytail.

His eyes tracked her progress beneath thick, dark lashes, but he remained quiet.

Oddly emotional, she gently pushed him away, and made to leave the room.

"Welcome back, Jin."

* * *

**Chapter One**

_A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything._

—Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

008.

* * *

The far reaches of the universe, it turned out, were defying God's omnipotence. 

Lost Jerusalem—tottering on cosmos' edge—was brimming with souls, recycled and not, but Shion could see none of them.

Logically, she knew she'd found the right place. Every bit of data she sent up indicated with 99.99 accuracy that this—this _was_ Earth.

The samples from the orbiting Durandal—what was left of it—came back positive; the facts were still raw and uncalibrated, but they confirmed faint traces of carbon isotopes, dating the planet. The geological composition matched the fragmented Y-data, the magnetic fields were equal to the projected information, and the amount of radioactive decay was conducive to its arcane disappearance.

But Shion could not connect.

The girl who could hear the Song of Nephilim could not find KOS-MOS.

Worse, she couldn't find her idiot brother, either.

The Elsa was bound for Durandal, and Shion... Shion was bound for an asylum.

This, she thought, was what had given her ulcers while growing up.

As lazy and aimless as he was, Jin had difficulty staying put. He called it boredom. She called it attention deficit disorder. Either way, he'd been practically haunting the ship, popping up in spots, and causing Allen to jump at shadows. Around day seven, Tony even swore off going anywhere near the bar without packing a sharp object of some kind.

With a groan, Shion hurried toward the lounge.

The idiot was going to fully materialize one day, and wouldn't it be ironic if he were clubbed to death by one of the androids?

Not that Jin would actually lose to anyone aboard Elsa, but...

"I never realized HaKox was so addictive."

Almost sheepish, Jin logged out and looked at her. "Ah. I'd be offended by that if the record holder wasn't some 'ShionX.' "

She could feel her cheeks burn.

"We're in range," she told him pointedly. "Jr. will probably open a communication circuit—"

As if on cue, a loud ping echoed, and Jr.'s voice carried through. "Yo, Shion."

The nearest monitor was perched atop the bar, obstructed by a cocktail glass. Shion pushed the glass away and slid onto a bar stool, ignoring Jin's curious stares.

"Any news from MOMO?" she asked, furtively eyeing Jin.

"Yeah, she—" began Jr. happily. "Uh..."

Jin batted at the bartender's antenna, watching—perfectly amused—as the droid inspected his surroundings for an unexpected source of disturbance.

Shion bit her tongue and returned her attention to the monitor.

Which, in retrospect, was unfortunate.

"Shion," said Jr., his eyes oddly focused on a distant shadow beyond her.

"Yes?"

"Is your brother a Testament?"

* * *

009.

* * *

There was something marginally entertaining about being the center of attention. 

Especially when said attention was generally directed at the wall behind him.

Gathered in the lounge, the majority of Elsa's crew was shifting uncomfortably, trying to decide where to look.

Jin assumed Captain Matthews could see him, at least partially. Mostly because Adonis had been pouring him orange juice, tomato juice, and coffee at a regular interval.

"Good to have you back, boy," he finally blustered, fingers clutched around a pitcher.

"He says thank you, Captain," replied Shion politely.

Having said no such thing, Jin raised an eyebrow. "_He_ can also speak for himself."

Shion huffed. "They can't hear you, Jin."

"Can you be certain?"

"I—if they could hear you, they'd have said something by now!"

Jr. looked about the room, biting back a smirk. "This is probably only funny to me, huh?"

Greeted with blank expressions, he cleared his throat and clapped his hands. "Okay, can anyone else see or hear him?"

Allen uncertainly raised his hand. "Kinda... but I can only see a misshapen blob, like a tiny swarm of Gnosis or something—"

Instinctively, Jin directed his attention to Allen.

Allen, for his part, quickly added, "I didn't mean to imply—uh, just that—when... when things cross from the Imaginary Numbers Realm into ours—not to say that your brother is a _thing_—!"

Shion shook her head with a gentle smile.

Oddly enough, Jin's chest tightened at the sight.

"It's okay, Allen," she said softly.

Glancing between the two, Jr. splayed his fingers behind his head and stretched. "And with that, I think we're ready to get back to business."

Captain Matthews rubbed his forehead, adjusted his cap, and tipped Adonis before throwing over his shoulder, "Come see me when you're ready to take off."

Allen followed, sneaking a few—very obvious—glances at Shion.

The door closed behind them with a soft swish.

Suddenly deathly serious, Jr. swung his fist at Jin, catching him on the jaw.

"Jr.!" shrieked Shion, hands automatically pulling at his shoulders.

"Just testing," he replied haughtily, flexing his fingers. "Ouch, by the way."

With patience, Jin rubbed his jaw. "You're welcome."

Shion stared at them both.

She opened her mouth to reprimand either or both, but her communicator went off.

"C-chief. The, um... the Park closes in an hour."

Still glaring suspiciously at the other two, Shion covered her communicator and said, in a hushed, flustered whisper, "I'll be right there, Allen."

"You off to Durandal?" asked Jr. pleasantly as though he hadn't just socked her brother.

"Yes, I have a date," she mumbled distractedly, "but what—"

"Well, you don't wanna keep the man waiting," recited Jr. dutifully, ushering her out of the lounge.

A tiny, muffled sound of protest died on the other side of the door.

Jr. pressed his palm against the door's sensor.

"Sorry," he nodded.

Jin smiled.

"I do understand," he confessed, leaning against the bar.

Adonis quickly scurried away, busying himself with polishing various—spotless—appliances.

Casually, Jr. sat next to Jin, one arm draped across the counter. "I have to make sure you're sticking around for the right reasons, you know?"

Jin flinched.

"She..." Jr. hesitated. "I think she's had enough of men using her to justify their own selfish ideals."

Surprised to find himself visibly upset, Jin narrowed his eyes. "I'm her _brother_."

Jr. nodded, shrugging. "Won't stop you from hurting her."

Frowning, Jin turned to look at him.

Jr. didn't give him a chance to retaliate. "You're nothing like Winnicot, I know, but..."

And for a moment, Jin began to doubt himself.

When'd he first spotted her in Lost Jerusalem, he was absolutely certain that chaos had given him one last, peaceful dream. But as his quiet journey shed its stasis, and she became real again, there was something... possibly selfish and entirely grateful.

However, Jin had no ulterior motives. He _knew_ this. He had no misconceptions about the universe or himself or Shion. He thought he'd made that clear.

"Albedo," he questioned, "Albedo... he sleeps?"

Apprehensive, Jr. shifted. "Yes."

"He sleeps within you?"

"Yes," he replied defensively.

"Do you think it's selfish to keep him there?"

Behind a child's face, there was suddenly a wealth of wisdom. "He belongs here," he murmured, placing a shaky hand over his own heart. "You know?"

Jin's features softened.

"_I know_," he said earnestly.

Jr. watched him for a moment, then reverted, grinning boyishly. "So. You're not here to restart the universe or get revenge or read a ton of books?"

Jin grinned back. "Reading is not entirely out of the question, of course."

Satisfied, Jr. jumped out of his chair, and puffed out his chest. "Just don't start with your own obituary, okay?"

Chuckling, Jin rose.

A vague, distant whisper coiled through his memories.

_We exist_. _As long as the people—as long as the universe—desires it_.

"By the way," added Jr. with wicked smugness. "Wanna crash a date?"

Strangely content, Jin found himself inclining his head in acquiescence.

The future was, indeed, overflowing with hope.


	2. Formal

**Chapter Two**

_Death is not the worst than can happen to men._

—Plato

* * *

010.

* * *

Like anything else obeying the laws of gravity aboard the Elsa, the beds, too, were bolted down. 

So why did it seem like hers was slowly inching toward the one Jin had recently appropriated?

Shion rummaged through her wardrobe, conveniently ignoring the neat way his sheets were tucked into the corners. If his technique was... neater than hers, it was only because she'd never served in the military. And if his area was more presentable, it was only because she had to save the universe and not the etiquette committee. And if she was irrationally upset by this, it was only because living with Jin was _strange_.

For example, now, when she should have been focusing on her impending date, she was busy worrying about the mess she'd create in the process.

Damn it.

Allen could wait a minute longer, she concluded, and tossed a shoe on Jin's bed, upsetting the delicate Feng Shui balance he'd clearly been aiming for.

Smiling victoriously, Shion shimmied out of her favorite skirt and slipped into a pair of pants.

She was halfway out the door when her eyes were drawn back to his bed.

With a sheepish sigh, she toddled back and set about restoring the sheets to their previous glory.

It was in this position that Jin found her three minutes later.

"Did a Gnosis... implode?" he asked, sporting an unreadable expression.

Indignant, Shion tossed the knotted sheets to the floor.

"Okay," she huffed, patting herself down to avoid looking at him. "I'm officially late for my date. Bye!"

She brushed past him, uncharacteristically close—close enough to feel his warm breath graze her cheek.

"How many?" he asked suddenly.

She kept walking."How many what?"

"How many dates have you had with him?"

Her stomach flipped unpleasantly. "I... haven't kept count, Jin."

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye, then placed a hand on the door's sensor. "Jin."

"Hmm?"

"What did Jr. want?"

An odd, introspective flicker of doubt flashed across his face.

"Same thing, I suppose," he replied quietly.

Confused and too apprehensive to ask for further elaboration, Shion tapped the sensor and stepped out.

She took her time wandering through Elsa's corridors, lost in thought.

What... _thing_?

* * *

011.

* * *

Torture, by definition, was a subjective discipline. 

Being a subject of the aforementioned, of course, required no discipline, though patience was certainly beneficial. Observing a mere bench, for example, shouldn't have been even remotely synonymous with torture, and yet, Jin felt pained.

And frankly, somewhat annoyed.

"Jr.," he lectured, "I don't think this is appropriate."

Jr. shushed him.

"Jr."

Jr. stretched up, trying to catch a glimpse ahead, hiding—somewhat successfully—behind a pillar.

"You want them to _hear_ us, huh, Jin?" he snapped, balancing on his toes.

Jin considered him for a moment.

"I'm not particularly sure _I _want to hear _them_," he said.

Predictably, Jr. ignored him.

Sense of decency finally kicking in, Jin carefully pushed him aside and strode forward.

The park was, as usual, barely lit. The lamp posts that had survived the invasion—and the Ark—were bent inwards, shining upon a lone bench. Neatly trimmed foliage was crawling up its finely carved legs. And seated snuggly in the middle, watching the stars, were Shion and Allen.

Truthfully, Jin had plenty of experience suppressing the corresponding reflex.

The first time he'd seen Pellegri standing suspiciously close to Margulis? He had been surprised, but fairly unconcerned. The summer he'd come home from the Academy to find Shion sprawled across his bed, clutching his pillow, an old, faded photograph of their parents resting next to her? His heart had reached out, but his hands hadn't.

The moment Winnicot revealed himself as a Testament, and Shion broke right before his eyes? That—that was pure fear, and his reaction was automatic, instinctive.

Allen, of course, had barely registered on his worry-radar, but now, watching the man stare longingly at his sister...

"Stop lurking in the shadows, Jin," she said suddenly, not even turning around.

Allen jumped up instantly, looking around and sort of managing to fix his eyes on Jin's relative location.

For the briefest of immature moments, Jin considered commenting, then simply stepped aside to let Jr. shuffle past him.

"Aww, you knew?" grumbled Jr., scratching the back of his head.

"You're not as stealthy as you may believe," she mumbled, eyes still trained on the bare stretch of universe outside. "Besides, Jin is emoting loud enough to wake the dead. Or the partially dead, as it were."

Visibly jittery, Allen cleared his throat. "Can you tell him that I didn't—er, that—"

Shion rose, patting his arm.

"Yeah, well," Jr. chimed in, stepping between the two. "Sorry to... ah, interrupt your... whatever, but we've made progress."

Shion gave him an incredulous look. "What, in the _hour_ since I saw you?"

Jr. shrugged, looking bored.

Jin waited and when no further clarification seemed to be forthcoming, explained, "MOMO sent over a Y-data fragment."

Shion's head snapped up. "Deciphered?"

He nodded.

She took a step closer to him, leaving Allen to stare in confusion.

Jin found himself instantly relaxing.

And then, naturally, he tensed.

It was most likely his imagination—or skewed visual and auditory perceptions due to recent trauma—but Shion was slowly developing a habit of standing quite near when addressing him. Worse, _he_ was developing a habit of not fleeing.

"The new information suggests there is an active biosource deep within Lost Jerusalem's core," he managed professionally.

She tilted her head, then flicked Jr.'s forehead. "And you couldn't tell us this before?"

With a charming grin, Jr. waved her off. "Nah, I decided to wait for the opportune moment."

"The middle of my date is opportune?" she demanded.

Jin, being dreadfully astute and having gotten over his latent deathwish, wisely chose to placate her.

"Shion, there will be plenty of opportunities to... enjoy companionships."

But hopefully, none in the near future.

She gave him a quick, wounded glance, then suddenly leaned into him, cheek pressing against his shoulder. "Do we have a location?"

Worried, he felt her forehead.

Allen, who must have been quietly tolerating the "misshapen Gnosis-like blob" swirling around his girlfriend, stepped forward. "Chief? Are you—"

"She's not," interrupted Jin, and miraculously, Allen seemed to have heard him.

"What can I do?" he asked eagerly.

Jin frowned, bending to scoop her up. "You can run another scan," he called out. "And find KOS-MOS."

* * *

012.

* * *

When she was little—before Vector, but after Labyrinthos—Shion loved daisies. 

The daisies Kevin had stepped on were golden in her memories. The shade of gold that often blinded her. And after rejecting him, the colors had slowly faded to a soft, lifeless gray.

Coincidentally, the exact shade of gray now eclipsing her field of vision.

Except, this one was more tangible.

"Jin?"

He ignored her, tightening his grip.

Mortified, Shion tried to remember why exactly she was being carted off through Durandal's residential area. Okay, so perhaps not so much carted off as carried. And why—exactly—her body had decided to practically mold to his—her fingers clutching his crumpled yukata, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her legs dangling off—

"Let me down."

He adjusted his hold, and continued forward.

"It can't be U-DO," he told her evenly. "And judging by the numbness in my arms, you didn't skip meals recently."

Flushing, she hid her face in his chest.

"Shion," he asked systematically, slowing his steps. "Have you and Allen—"

"No!"

Heart pounding for no discernible reason, she struggled to be put down.

How dare he imply—and what business of his was it anyway—

"Mm. We're almost back, Shion," he reasoned, giving her a kind smile. "So just wait a bit."

She felt curiously puzzled by those words even though Elsa's dock loomed in the distance.

They were almost back to _what_?

"It's just stress," she confided, relaxing. "Without KOS-MOS around, I'm useless."

When he didn't immediately contradict her, she bit back a slew of instinctive counter-criticisms, and wrapped her arms around his neck, telling herself it was only so she could have easy access to strangulation should the need arise.

"And Lost Jerusalem terrifies me," she continued softly, voice muffled by his clothes.

His fingers dug into her skin.

"And it doesn't help that every time I wake up and you're nowhere in sight, I have to fight off an anxiety attack."

Jin froze in his tracks, finally deigning to look at her.

So, as ridiculous as the situation was—what with him standing three meters from Elsa's bay, and her cradled in his arms—they exchanged a long, silent look. The tightness in her chest eased as she stared. She didn't necessarily want to start depending on him, but she was flawed and full of regret and Jin was the only thing that belonged to her. The only possession that she knew, without a doubt, was _real_.

And he _was_, finally, real, as indicated by the frown lines on his face.

Most of which she'd probably caused.

"So," she whispered when he begun moving again. "If there are infinite paths and one of them happens to lead you away from this existence... don't take it."

Expression unreadable, he boarded the Elsa.

"I can't promise you that," he replied finally.

"You're going to have to."

A frustrated noise seemed to be stuck in the back of his throat. "Shion, don't ask for—"

"Dad asked you to. For me."

Jin closed his eyes, clearly attempting to remain on the adult side of the conversation. "Shion, you'll be fine. You have Allen."

"That's different," she replied automatically. "You're my brother."

"I've never been a very good one."

And while she could argue against that—quite convincingly—she drew her arms tighter around his neck. His grip loosened and she slowly slid of out of his arms. Which left her standing there, leaning against him and looking up into his eyes.

The gray of his yukata—the gray in her memories—faded.

His eyes were a familiar shade of green, and the only thing they reflected was—her.

Suddenly flustered, she untangled herself from him, and averted her eyes.

The daisies she'd loved—before Vector, before Labyrinthos, before he left for the Academy—were green.

The kind of green that pulsed through little buds, through the tiny leaves protecting the blossoming life inside.

Through Jin.

* * *

013.

* * *

His thirst for knowledge was heavily influenced by his lack of faith. 

If Adam was cast away for eating from the tree of knowledge, then Jin, countless times more inquisitive, should have been surprised to find himself favored by Yeshua. But as he sat through the morning briefing and contemplated a hearty breakfast for the first time since the Armaros, he knew he hadn't angered god enough.

Hunger was definitely a perquisite now.

"—somewhere in the eastern region."

Distracted, Jin forced himself to listen.

Jr.'s feet were propped up on the table, his hands behind his head. "I know we've experienced... losses, but it's still best if we split into groups. We'll cover more ground, right?"

Shion leaned into her palm. "Two teams of two? That doesn't seem very... productive, Jr."

"Coming from a girl who found Lost Jerusalem all by herself," he grinned.

Shion frowned.

"C'mon, Shion," he teased. "You wanna be on my team?"

Allen cleared his throat. "I-it should be okay, Chief. I can go with you. If—if you want."

Jr. raised an appraising eyebrow, eyes briefly passing over Jin's.

"I don't know," he said with exaggerated concern. "I almost wish the old man were here. But since he's not, Shion's gonna need protection. You know?"

Disappointed, Allen fixed his eyes on the table.

Jin felt unnecessarily guilty for a moment, but was promptly distracted by the scent of fresh bread wafting from the lounge. It was slightly odd to feel this overwhelmed by such a basic, surpassable urge, but—

"Jin. Are you hungry?" asked Shion, trying—though not very hard—to hide her amusement.

Cautiously, Jin rose, approaching Adonis with a questioning look.

He could feel everyone's eyes on his back, but couldn't quite find the time to care. The scent was driving him crazy. He could practically _taste_ the salt.

Helpful as ever, Adonis whirred for a moment, then served him up a plate.

The first bite tasted like...

Like it was worth the expulsion from Eden.

"Anyway," drawled Jr., bringing the attention back to himself. "Captain Matthews said he's able to keep track of both teams' progress and bail us out if need be."

"We're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, then?" asked Allen, tinkering with a holo-panel in front of him. "Restock our supplies, travel, send reports?"

Jr. rubbed his eyes, yawning. "Yeah."

Looking intrigued, Shion glanced over her shoulder, pointing at Jin.

"If he ever stops eating," she chided, but the satisfied smile on her face belied her words, "he'll definitely be able to lead one of the teams. I think he specialized in reconnaissance. I mean, before he stared specializing in gluttony."

Jin grinned into his second slice of bread.

"Yeah, and since I'm a natural born leader," puffed Jr. proudly, "I'll lead the second."

Shion squinted. "That leaves me with... no choice, really."

Jr. laughed happily. "Aww, c'mon! If you're gonna go on a pilgrimage, you can't do better than me!"

"Jin," she deadpanned. "I'll see you at 1900 hours."

Jin waved her off, motioning for Adonis to pour him a glass of... anything, really.

And as Jr. and Allen went about preparing for departure—and his body finally stopped demanding glucose—Jin's mind slowly began grasping the situation.

Absentmindedly, he found himself drifting back to his—her—quarters.

He'd had his share of journeys before. But ever since he could remember, none tended to involve someone else. His old job, while technically a group effort, had kept him relatively isolated—his missions were covert and unauthorized. There were secrets and findings he couldn't share with anyone, not even his father or his detachment.

Serving as a physician was a solitary existence, mentally. He'd been exposed to little fragments of lonely people's lives. Their doubts and their fears and their memories, and he'd just listened.

And owning a bookstore was his most misanthropic endeavor yet.

Joining Elsa's defunct crew was a step in the right direction.

But a pilgrimage with his little sister?

"Oh, good," she chirped when she saw him standing in the doorway. "You're back. Help me pack."

Wordlessly, he followed her instructions, wondering why she seemed so exhilarated.. After all, he was under the impression that Lost Jerusalem terrified her.

"—says that's where KOS... Mary's from."

Jin looked up from his hands. "Hmm?"

"You know," she sighed. "When _you_ talk, _I_ listen."

Jin raised an eyebrow.

Shion averted her eyes. "Well. Most of the time."

Jin wiped his forehead, hoisting the supply packs onto his bed. "Middle East, KOS-MOS, connection. I heard."

She was smiling at him.

"It's a city of peace," she told him, eyes bright.

"Mm."

"On the watershed. It sounds _familiar_."

"Mm."

"We'll take the southern plateau, and Jr. can take the eastern."

"Mm."

Her smile grew as she watched him.

Jin tried to look away. And failed.

His stomach was sated; his shoulders ached from the morning's exercise; and his mind seemed as functional as ever. So Yeshua had, indeed, bestowed him with his affections.

The problem was that Mary—independently, concurrently—had loved Shion.

And where exactly did that place him and her—together and apart—in the grand scheme of things?

If the original sin derived from a rebellious thirst for knowledge and the consumption of the forbidden fruit...

Why would chaos expose him to such temptation?

"You can't order me around, though."

Startled out of his reverie, Jin glanced at her. "I'm sorry?"

She plopped down on the bed opposite his. "If I think we should go left, we go left."

A lopsided grin threatened to curve his lips. "Like you said, I specialized in reconnaissance."

"And I found Lost Jerusalem," she retorted.

"Technically, I found it first."

Her expression fell.

Then, biting her lip in concentration, she darted across his bed and blocked him from slipping past her.

"I guess you'll just have to have some faith in me," she challenged, nudging him to spar with her.

Jin obliged, assuring himself his muscles needed the activity.

"I have faith in you," he admitted as he ducked.

She lunged.

"Just not in your ability to navigate."

Her fist connected with his forearm.

The room was cramped and not actually designed for practice, but he indulged her, wondering why faith was quickly becoming preferable to knowledge.


	3. Efficient

**Chapter Three**

_There is no disguise which can hide love for long where it exists, or simulate it where it does not._

—La Rochefoucauld

* * *

014.

* * *

Genesis was a surprisingly simple concept. 

Creation myths, on the other hand, were wrought with disturbing imagery and notably unpleasant ideas. Understanding Lost Jerusalem—its past, its present, and hopefully its future—entailed detailed research into every aspect of its beliefs, hopes, imaginations.

Absurdly enough, during said research, Shion kept stumbling upon a wealth of cultural knowledge she honestly would have preferred lost.

Perhaps part of reason was the constant influx of myths and tales where brothers tricked their sisters into marrying them and producing children that would magically rebuild worlds after great floods. Or ridiculous stories about lovers who committed dual suicides and were reincarnated as siblings. Or ancient civilizations—that coincidentally had thrived right beneath her feet, literally—where royal women could only marry their siblings. Or insane emperors who consorted with all their sisters. Or goddesses who seemed to only want their brothers. Or psychoanalytic child ballads. Or—

"You're going to break it."

Shion glanced at her hands, where a mistreated mainframe was slowly coming undone.

Not unlike herself.

"I'm... not," she retorted eloquently.

After all, she'd only been killing time, reading fragments of the Y-Data as they hiked toward the wide stone gate in the distance.

But with every new chapter, her dismay grew. Mostly because she was slowly starting to realize Jin—who'd probably read everything ever written—had already been privy to this information. Which begged the question...

...what did he _think_?

Did he have a similar reaction? Nausea and a slight feeling of despair? Or did it not affect him in the slightest? Was he even aware of _having_ a sister? Or was she seriously over-thinking this? And besides, why was she being so sensitive lately—?

"Just hand it over."

Startled, she glanced at his outstretched hand.

_Oh_.

With a sheepish smile, she handed the mainframe over, hurrying to catch up.

"Is.. is it so strange?" he asked calmly, slowing his steps to let her rejoin him.

"What, being the only female on the planet?" she attempted weakly, then squared her shoulders. "You... take some getting used to, you know?"

He spared her a commiserating glance.

To be truly alone with Jin, without the security and the chaos of Elsa and her crew...

"I'm boring," she blurted.

Chuckling, Jin tilted his head. "And?"

"And I'm worried you'll—wait. You can't _agree_ with me."

"Why not?"

Shion frowned. "Because I'm not boring. But you'll think I am. Because you weren't there when I was rambling about the importance of flowerbeds and lunch."

He seemed to think on it for a moment. "Who were you... why would... never mind, Shion."

Technically, she'd used the flowerbed as a metaphor to get through to Kevin, and lunch as an allegory with Allen. If she really wanted to test Jin, though, she could—

"What do you think I'm looking for here?" she asked carefully.

He fixed his eyes on hers, appearing contemplative.

"A very small degree of hope," he replied.

And before she knew it, she'd launched into a passionate diatribe, listing all the reasons why Wilhelm's logic was not entirely deranged.

He argued against her quite persuasively, but for the first time in her life, she felt he _understood_ her. Respected her opinion. Saw her as an equal.

So perhaps the concept of regenesis was simple, as well.

Which made the pilgrimage marginally less daunting.

They'd parted ways several hours ago; Allen and Jr. were barely registering on her locator now, and the sun had long set.

A valley—the third one in the area—ran southeast, dividing the nighttime horizon into two large hills. Upon each, remains of a grand city waited for her, displaying their impressive masonry as if trying to lure her in. But the architecture along the long winding wall bending around the upper and lower cities deteriorated increasingly as they approached the nearest residential area.

Soon, however, they were inspecting a crude abode that seemed the least damaged, contemplating rest.

Ultimately, it was Jin who ushered her in, set up the equipment, sent Jr. a message, and began sizing up two large slabs of stone that probably doubled as beds hundreds of years ago. Of course, the prospect of untangling old-fashioned bedrolls the old-fashioned way in an old-fashioned manner...

Well, there were more important things.

Like feeling the walls—four in all—and trying to connect. To sense KOS-MOS. Or chaos. Or the answer to the question Wilhelm inadvertently made her want to solve.

Concentrating intently, she turned to check on Jin's progress and—

"We're not moving in," she griped. "You don't have to _clean_."

He gave her an indignant sigh, wiping dust and ashes off one of the slabs. "I'm not. However, men my age don't generally benefit from sleeping on rocks."

"...Grandpa, is that you?" she asked innocently, glancing up at the ceiling.

Amused—but trying desperately to hide it—he snapped the roll into place, and before she knew it, his bed looked comfortable and inviting, while hers looked like... well, a cold slab of stone.

"I think there was a strangely appropriate ancient story about a grasshopper and an ant, if I'm not mistaken," he carried on piously, rotating his shoulder a few times before lowering himself onto the bed with a satisfied groan.

A few more pillows completed the project, and he obviously had no qualms about thoroughly ignoring her in favor of some well-deserved sleep.

Shion stood there for a long moment, just staring.

The words 'Move over' seemed to want to just roll off her lips, but the concept of _saying_ something like that was almost as mortifying as actually climbing into bed next to him. She hadn't even done that as a _child_. She'd tried, of course, dragging her plushie on the ground and eyeing his bunk contemplatively, but he'd been gone so often, it mattered little where she slept.

He'd caught her once, when she'd been barely old enough to spell her name. She'd snuck into his room and had carefully lifted a corner of his blanket, then inched up his body and snuggled up. Craftily, she had abstained from poking him or pulling on his hair or tugging on his eyelashes. But no matter how clever she'd been or how stealthy, he'd woken up—and she vaguely remembered holding her breath—had taken one glance at her sheepish face, rubbed his forehead, then patiently walked her back to her room.

In retrospect, it was a veritable miracle he hadn't punted her across the hallway.

Over the years, as Dad slowly begun his descent into what she'd then perceived as indifferent alienation, and Mom slipped deeper into her own world, Jin's room became a nonexistent fixture.

"Go to bed, Shion," he mumbled sleepily.

With a determined little scowl, she gave a nod and shed her boots and jacket.

The look on his face, of course, was priceless.

"Shion!"

"Next time, be more specific," she reprimanded, cheeks burning.

She waited for the 'Shion, _your_ bed' amendment, but it never came.

So she tugged on his covers, feeling oddly nervous.

He was quiet for a terrifyingly long moment—lying next to her, practically frozen—then slowly rolled to his side, away from her.

She could feel his back against hers—comfortingly warm and solid—and for a moment, she thought this made up for every slight he'd inadvertently committed when she'd been young and lost and still seeking his unattainable affections.

So... why didn't her heart want to stop pounding now?

Her recent foray into the depths of Y-Data had to have had an influence.

"Jin," she told the pillow. "This is normal, right?"

"No," he replied calmly.

"But it's okay, isn't it?"

He didn't answer for a long time.

"Yes," he said finally, just as she was drifting off to sleep.

And whether she'd dreamt it or not, she thought she heard him add, "For now."

* * *

015.

* * *

It went like this. 

He woke first.

His eyes were slowly focusing on the wall inches from his nose, his legs were automatically stretching, and his back...

His back was almost warm.

She was asleep, curling away from him.

And he found himself oddly disappointed. Possessing a strategic brain and a military background had resulted in predicting unfavorable situations and their subsequent resolutions. He'd already mentally mapped out several possible extraction methods when and if Shion decided to invade his personal space.

He needn't have worried.

The emotional rift between them clearly extended to even their unconscious actions.

Which was... appropriate. Right. Normal.

She sneezed, tensing for a moment, then succumbed to sleep again.

The room was still relatively dark, the soft blue light emanating from various machined parts strewn about the room its only illumination. That meant he'd either been asleep for only a few hours or that nights on Lost Jerusalem were unnaturally long and—what the hell was his hand doing?

Startled, Jin removed his fingers from her shoulder.

He needed to sleep more.

More sleep equalled a clearer mind. And a clearer mind guaranteed a distinct lack of inappropriate reflexes.

Because really, she'd sneezed, not bled to death. There was no need to comfort her. Or to touch her. Or to give her any further consideration.

So why was he tucking her in?

"Nn?" she sighed, head lolling to the side, hand smacking against his chest.

And though it was inconvenient and uncomfortable and _unseemly_, he let her slowly stretch into his space, one long leg wedging between his.

For all his meticulous planning and prevention-training, Jin couldn't remember a single reason why this was wrong.

Her hips pressed against his thighs, her arms wrapped around his torso, and her cheeks pressed against his neck.

In turn, his vision blurred, his heartbeat slowed, and his muscles relaxed.

He was asleep before she took her next breath.

* * *

016.

* * *

Shion had been judged by God once. 

When she'd been touched by a Gnosis and lived, God must have found her worthy.

But lying here, afraid to open her eyes for fear of confirming her suspicions, Shion wondered which part of her, exactly, had ever been worthy.

"I figured it out."

She mentally jumped at the sound of his voice.

"There is no moon."

She opened her eyes.

...yup.

She was essentially sprawled across her brother, who seemed conspicuously calm.

Burning with embarrassment, she schooled her voice. "There's a moon, Jin. We saw it in orbit."

He raised an eyebrow in consideration. "Billions of years ago, before the moon coalesced, an Earth day lasted only four hours."

Her fingers itched. Ever cell in her body wanted to flee, but if he wasn't going to move first...

"Are you teaching _me_ science, Jin?"

"My sense of time was relative before," he went on, observing the ceiling. "But I'm convinced nights last for at least fifteen hours. Which suggests—unequivocally—that there is no moon."

Annoyed, Shion tapped her fingers... on his chest... then flushed bright red. "Y-okay."

He took her hand in his, then gently pried her off him with too much unconcerned dignity. "This is a problem."

"I'm sorry!" she huffed. "I was asleep! I didn't know what—"

"The moon, Shion," he said but wouldn't look at her.

"Oh."

Perhaps he was right. She was certainly acting stupid enough to warrant a mysterious moon implosion or explosion or—

Where was she supposed to put her hands now?

She sat up, turning several shades of pink and wondering at the sudden absence of... something.

Jin was sitting across from her on the narrow makeshift bed, looking lost in thought.

A part of her wanted to argue and possibly debunk his theory—any theory he dared come up with—while a part of her wanted to run away so fast she'd actually turn back time and not suffer this humiliation.

But the most troubling part—the part that felt ridiculously content and rested—wanted to curl up and sleep some more.

Thankfully, there was a mission, a mystery, and the horrifying fact that she'd slept on Jin to distract her.

* * *

017.

* * *

"Roche radius." 

Jin nodded at the screen. "I know of no other explanation."

Jr. scratched the back of his neck, frowning. "Okay, but if the moon somehow broke apart, what the hell's that big thing in the sky?"

Jin glanced toward the lightening horizon, where a large pale moon was slowly descending. "Decoy."

Not entirely convinced, Jr. clucked his tongue. "Uhh. Who'd do that? And why?"

Shion pushed Jin away from the screen to say, "Perhaps when Earth was abandoned, it was set in place as a defense mechanism."

Jr. immediately cracked a wicked grin. "Hey, Shion. Nice jammies."

She briefly glanced down at herself, then smacked the panel and Jr. automatically ducked, as though she could actually bend space and whack him upside the head.

"We should gather samples as soon as possible," she urged eagerly. "How far are you from—"

A bushy blond head quickly popped up at the sound of her voice. "Chief!"

Shion gave him an indulgent smile. "Good morning, Allen."

Jr. rolled his eyes, pushing Allen off camera.

"Let's have Elsa take samples from the decoy," he nodded. "That way we can finish our rotation here without backtracking or losing resources, ya know?"

Jin inclined his head slightly. "Agreed. We can rendezvous at the Second Temple in six days."

Allen popped back in to showcase his most crestfallen of expressions. "Six days?"

"Look on the bright side," Jin found himself saying. "At least they'll be short."

To his surprise, Shion was trying to bite back a giggle, deliberately turning away from the monitor.

Amused, Jr. reached to power off the comm-circuit from his side, but not before Allen got in a parting, "But the Earth is still rotating at the same speed, so it won't really—"

Shion instantly turned her attention to Jin.

"You _could_ be nicer to him," she complained, rising to gather her equipment pack.

Jin inspected the various sensors he'd left overnight to collect data, not even bothering to look at her.

"It's my sworn duty as an older brother to keep hungry little piranhas away."

"I... I'm not sure that analogy works for me."

"You weren't the piranha in it," he added helpfully, turning to look at her.

She was watching him intently.

"Why now?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"You never used to have a problem with... with who I was seeing."

"Un," he acknowledged. "And you almost died at the hand of someone who wanted to use you to annihilate the universe."

He didn't need to turn around to know her eyes had filled with tears.

He paused, palm resting against the wall.

That... had been uncalled for.

Worse, though, he didn't actually feel guilty for saying it.

"At least," she began hesitantly. "At least he wanted to _be_ with me." She took a shaky breath. "C-can you say the same for Pellegri?"

Jin's eyes widened.

Shion fidgeted for a moment, then grabbed her pack and headed out.

Confused and feeling oddly hurt, Jin slowly followed after.

* * *

018.

* * *

In the history of bad ideas, a pilgrimage with one's estranged sibling ranked right up there with working for Vector again. 

Lost Jerusalem's geological composition was challenging at best, in sharp contrast to the mostly flat, mechanical environments she'd explored before. Every step she took felt like it would be her last—a thick fog had blanketed the hills, obscuring the horizon, and her equilibrium seemed to perpetually suffer.

The day—though it barely began—was already coming to a shrouded, cabalistic end that made her constantly believe the edge of the world was three steps away.

And Jin was certainly not helping contradict her paranoia.

He kept appearing and disappearing from her line of vision, concentrating steadily on the locator and mostly forgetting she was even with him.

Admittedly, she probably deserved it.

She was still reeling from what he'd said, as it was largely uncharacteristic and universally cruel. Of course, she'd implied he'd never been loved by the one woman he had any sort of feelings for, so...

"Careful," he warned, catching her elbow a second before she walked off a cliff that had appeared out of nowhere.

She felt her skin heat up, and quickly shook him off. "Thanks."

Expressionless, he continued traversing the seemingly unending expanse of mist.

It had to be Lost Jerusalem, then.

Something about the planet was making her moronic.

For example, if she hadn't been here, on this abomination of a planet, where no life had thrived for hundreds of years, she wouldn't have... reacted.

Waking up would have consisted of stretching and yawning and other nonchalant routines.

Her first thought would _not_ have been, 'Do I look presentable?'

And she wouldn't have secretly brushed her hair or changed into a more flattering shirt.

By the time Shion snapped out of her introspective fussing, the sky had darkened considerably, even though it was barely time for lunch.

"We can take a break here."

Shion nodded.

Soon, a lighted panel was dividing the space between them, glowing quietly as they sat opposite each other on a demolished stone partition.

"We've been following the remains of the wall for a while," he began in a businesslike manner. "I estimate we'll arrive at the next residential zone by dinner."

"So, we're measuring time in food increments now?" she asked before she could stop herself.

The corners of his lips twitched fleetingly.

And then they continued on their journey, and Shion felt lighter on her feet. Less fatalistic. More energetic.

For a few hours, they walked in companionable silence, exchanging an occasional warning regarding the worsening terrain. Eventually, low-roofed dwellings emerged in the distance, their peaks glinting through the dissipating fog.

They'd both filled several drives with accumulated data, and Shion actually started looking forward to setting up her annoying bedroll when a shadow suddenly slithered past her.

"Jin!"

"Mm?"

Confused, Shion looked around.

"Sorry. Nothing," she mumbled, trying to focus her eyes.

She'd seen something, she was certain.

A shadow, distinctly human-shaped.

But who—

Mouth inexplicably dry all of a sudden, she swayed under the weight of her pack, her vision blurring.

"Stress again?" he accused sharply, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"Jin, I think I saw something."

He didn't question her or—even more remarkably—doubt her. "Where?"

"Going north."

He took her pack and steered her towards the nearest intact residence. "Then we'll go south."

* * *

019.

* * *

Once was an anomaly. 

Twice was a pattern.

Yes, it was advantageous in terms of heat conservation. Yes, it was safer to be in close proximity. Yes, it was completely innocent.

But...

"We should contact Jr."

Shion shook her head, resting on her side, hands folded beneath her left cheek. "Not until we've got proof that I'm not hallucinating."

Jin stared at the tiny blue sensor next to his side of the bed. "We may never have that."

She kicked his shin.

The space between them was... sufficient. Their backs were turned to each other. A coverlet was stuffed in the middle.

But he couldn't suppress the impending sense of doom coiling through him.

A good brother would have chastised her months ago—when she shed her Vector uniform and slipped into attire that was entirely unacceptable. A _great_ brother would have covered her up himself.

But Jin, having had no previous experience of imposing his will on another living being, had said nothing, done nothing, and now he was back in a position that no man would envy.

Well... no man related to Shion, at least.

A thin blanket draped across his shoulders.

"Don't you get cold?" she asked, rolling over to face him. "Or are you still... 'over there'?"

He accepted the warmth, brows drawing together in thought. "I get cold."

She scooted closer.

"Are you starting to forget?" she murmured quietly.

Caught off guard, he hummed in agreement.

He _was_ starting to forget.

A part of him felt cheated. That inner and eternal peace he thought he'd found was barely a distant concept now, drifting further and further from him. The hours and days he'd spent on Lost Jerusalem lingered in his mind like fragments of an ever-elusive dream. But...

"There wasn't much to remember," he replied finally, eyes accidentally catching hers.

She held his gaze for a long moment.

"I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, settling in. "What for?"

He could feel her watching him.

"For what I said about... her."

Smiling, he flipped onto his back, eyes still closed.

"Really," she continued, and he could feel the sheets rustle as she moved closer.

He cracked open an eye.

"What... are you doing?"

She grinned sheepishly. "Mom used to do this for me when I was little."

"I know," he frowned as she attempted to basically eviscerate his scalp. "We had the same mother, Shion." He fought the urge to slap her hands off. "Besides, I seem to remember less sadism when she did this."

Her fingers eased through his hair, small puffs of air brushing over his temples.

"It's a soothing gesture, so enjoy it already," she snapped, irritated.

He masked his mirth, acquiring a stoic expression.

"It's not going to work, Jin," she told him. "I can read you better than you think."

Stubbornly, he refused to acknowledge this.

She slid her fingers deeper, grazing his ears with a gentleness that made him awfully uncomfortable.

"So," she goaded. "Now it's your turn to apologize."

He gave her a serious look. "Shion."

She paused.

"Don't move."

He gripped her shoulders, sitting up.

In a split second, he reached across her to unsheathe his sword, pushed her behind him, and leapt off the bed.

Another fraction of a second later, the tip of his sword was cutting into a shadowy figure looming above them.


	4. Final

One chapter left! Rejoice!

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away._

—Anon.

* * *

020.

* * *

The letter had read 'We regret to inform you.'

The bodies hadn't been retrieved. Hadn't been disposed of with dignity. Hadn't been resting in the graves he'd prayed over.

But no lack of closure could make Jin forget.

The scar beneath the left ear caused by Jin's toddler mayhem. The worry lines caused by Mother's unfathomable illness. The light dusting of gray across his temples caused by Shion's recklessness.

These belonged to Jin's father.

"Jin... is that..."

Jin could feel her snaking up his back, peering bewilderedly over his shoulder.

"No," he replied, though his sword wavered.

"Children," the shadow addressed them, as though the words had long been kept upon its lips.

He could feel her start to shake behind him, her fingers digging into his skin with all the awe of an abandoned child.

"It's an illusion, Shion," he soothed, attempting to convince them both.

"If I were an illusion, son," the shadow said kindly, "you would not stay your sword."

At a loss for words, Jin found himself lowering his arm.

Fortunately, Shion—as always—had an excess of words.

"Dad?"

"You have grown into a wonderful woman, Shion."

There was a smile here, though it somehow seemed to Jin there was a threat hidden behind its deliberate slowness.

"What—how... is _Mom_—"

"She is here. And she is waiting."

Slowly, Shion moved forward, away from Jin, drawn almost subconsciously towards the shadow.

"Have... have you... has _everyone_ been here all this time?"

"This is where we all return," was the echo. "Where we all belong." Its eyes turned to Jin. "Where your brother belongs."

Shion visibly paled.

"N-no," she reasoned. "He's okay now, see?"

The sound of her bare feet padding across the stone floor brought Jin back to reality.

So he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Shion—"

She turned frantic eyes on him.

"Perhaps," he acquiesced, "I should speak to him. Alone."

He'd only seen her look at him like this once before—when he'd said goodbye.

He'd been strong enough to ignore the slow burn in his chest once. Twice... twice was hardly possible.

"Jin cannot stay."

Both Jin and Shion turned to the shadow.

"Shion," it drawled. "You cannot keep him."

"Why?" she questioned instantly.

The persistent ache slowly faded into an improper sliver of hope.

"He has served his purpose," was the commanding reply. "And now it is time for him to rest."

Exasperated, Shion fumbled for the hilt of Jin's sword.

"Who decided this?" she argued.

"It has always been decided."

Composure completely lost, she fixed her eyes on the shadow's. "And it was clearly decided that he should return!"

A slight, acceding nod. "That... was his decision."

Shion looked taken aback.

The tone became decidedly sharper. "It is not... honorable, this path he is choosing."

Jin exhaled.

Was it God's favorite creation—willful and wild, who'd loved the mortal made from his own bones _and_ the fruit she'd damned him with—that cast God away? If so, was he actually _defying_ Yeshua? Had he found his _own_ path back to life? To existence? To—

Shion shouldered past him.

"It is his path to choose," she said crisply.

"I have given life to you both," came a slow, disapproving rumble. "My blood flows through you both." An enunciated, "_Both_."

Jin felt a prickle of dread at the back of his neck.

"We are... aware," he said.

And whether he was defying Yeshua, or his father's will, or fate—he'd made a promise to her. If he was spiraling out of control, it was only because she needed a lifeline. If he was allowing his brotherly love to become tainted with a disconcerting devotion, it was only because he was overcompensating. If his eyes were constantly straying to hers, it was only because he'd been conditioned to obsess over the object he was protecting.

So he drew her back, and sheathed his sword.

"But she is mine to keep safe," he told no one in particular.

Had he not been distracted by the sheer righteousness bubbling within him, he would've realized that the line between selfless ideals and selfish ones had—for him—been irreversibly erased.

* * *

021.

* * *

She owed nothing to her father.

And she certainly owed less than nothing to a sinister shadow who insisted on insinuating that there was something... wrong with her. Him. Them.

"If you—whoever you are—are not here to help," she informed it, fingers unwittingly sliding down to wrap around Jin's, "or to shed light on—"

A little boy, no older than five, ghosted across the room, his transparent body wandering aimlessly.

"Have you seen her?" he asked forlornly, briefly raising his head to look at Shion, though she instinctively knew he couldn't really see her. "My kitten? I only got her yesterday. Why can't I find her?"

Slowly, every corner of the room filled with images. An old lady here, a child there—all stumbling about, searching.

"Stop it," Jin warned.

The shadow observed with a great sense of detachment.

"These are all yours, Shion," it droned, flexing its neck.

A thick line of blood seemed to be splitting one of the children in half, yet still he kept searching with an obliviousness belonging to the undead.

With a sudden, dizzying awareness, realization dawned on her.

These _were_ hers. These souls—covered in imaginary ashes, their phantom bodies marred with lacerations and bruises, their psyches forever caught in a loop of their last moments—were her burden, a direct result of her actions. Of her existence.

"Stop it!"

She could barely hear him. Her palms were sweating and the high-pitched wailing in her head rang louder with every passing second. The guilt amassed, piercing through her chest until she felt as though a giant hand had wrapped around her heart and squeezed.

Individual, dozen, hundred, thousand—the numbers didn't go high enough. And all of them were staring at her. Blankly, accusingly, hopefully, as though they expected her to... save them? Apologize? Suffer? Give them life?

But all she could hear was a familiar chant. _Give him back. Give him back. Give him BACK._

The convergence reduced visibility in the small room. The stench of decomposing flesh filled her senses. She gagged and coughed and felt the top of her head being tucked beneath Jin's chin. If there had ever been an original summoning—before Labyrinthos and before the Encephalon—this was probably how it had started.

With a cold sweat down her back, and a pulsing beacon tearing through her chest, and the keening static cleaving through her skull, and—

And then it was over.

Dust settled instantly, the steady beeping of equipment reached her ears, and Jin's gray yukata was the only thing in her line of vision.

"—time runs out."

Trembling, she trained her ears to listen, but the conversation between Jin and the shadow seemed to be over.

Panting and painfully dizzy, she extracted herself from him, ignoring sentient thought in favor of purely primal rage.

But before she could open her mouth, the shadow slid closer.

"It is your greed that summons the evil," it told her coldly.

Greed? A child wanting her mother back was greedy? Praying for her parents' blood to stop soaking through her dress was greedy? Evil? Wrong?

"Enough," Jin growled.

The shadow backed off obediently. "As you wish."

Baffled by the sudden compliance, Shion slowly looked up at Jin.

"What did you do?" she rasped.

He wouldn't look at her.

"Leave," was his curt reply.

For a horrifying second, she thought he was talking to her, then noticed the shadow slinking off, fading into the darkness.

"Jin, what did you do?" she repeated, voice shaky.

What had he done to make all that go away? _What?_

"The Elsa should be here soon," he said instead, then went about collecting equipment as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

She stared at his back.

"There was enough thermal activity and increased energy to alert any orbiting ship, let alone one that is constantly monitoring our progress," he recited dully.

Chilled to the bone, Shion watched him, quickly surrendering to denial.

* * *

022.

* * *

The Elsa would dock soon.

He took a quick scan of the darkened hills, then returned his attention to Shion.

She was barely visible across the room, but he wasn't imagining her tear-streaked face.

There was nothing he could say. Nothing she wanted to hear. Even if he stripped the truth to the barest of facts, the conclusion was always the same.

She was different.

And with that, came the actuality of her power. Unfortunately, the power to destroy held severe consequences, trapping her in a state of perpetual emotional blackmail.

There wasn't a single creature on the Elsa that _hadn't_ been responsible for a loss of life—that was the reality of their time—but Shion, from birth, had been plagued by death. By people sacrificing themselves for her—consciously or not.

And... there was a timer now.

An hourglass, giving him a limited amount of time to somehow help her. To somehow end the cycle. To somehow erase the past.

Arranging his features into an unconcerned expression, he leaned against the low stone window and waited for Elsa.

If he forced the Professor to analyze the data immediately, and if any of it made sense, perhaps... no. If he ventured out on his own, possibly discovering the source of... no. Maybe if they mobilized the rest of the... no.

Frustrated, he stood up and paced.

There had to be a way.

A way to keep her safe. And happy. To keep her from harm, from disappointment, from heartbreak, from danger. From—

"Jin."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"This is my punishment, isn't it?" she asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

He was saved from answering—and questioning what exactly she thought she needed to be punished _for_—by a familiar clanking in the distance.

* * *

023.

* * *

It was strange, really.

Logically, she knew the gesture was one of love, meant to comfort and protect her.

But the arms were all wrong. And his chin was at the wrong level. And he smelled like soap and curry and nice cologne, instead of her shampoo and old silk and citrus and books.

"Allen," she mumbled through a mouthful of cloth, "you can let go now."

Sheepish, Allen released her. "S-sorry, Chief."

Worry was etched all over his face, and he was anxiously waiting for her to speak.

And when she finally did, she spoke like she would've to Miyuki or a sibling. Gave him an edited version where there were no shadows calling her its daughter and insinuating that she held anything but respect for Jin. Threw in a few shoulder pats and argued internally about why—_why_?—she couldn't let Allen take care of her.

She had, however, no time to worry about that. She had to bounce back. She had to solve everything. For her mother and father and Second Miltia and the Immigrant Fleet. For the future.

"You should rest," he said, unusually composed.

"Nn," she nodded.

"Do you, uh..." he stammered, cheeks darkening. "Should I stay with you?"

An appropriate response should've been a blush or a flattered smile, but Shion felt neither the inclination to turn red nor to accept.

"I'm sorry the expedition was interrupted," she said instead.

Somewhere above them, suspended from his seat, she heard the Captain curse, and lowered her voice. "I'm sorry. Tell Jr., please?"

A helpless look scrunched up Allen's face as he searched for ideas.

"Don't worry, Chief," he blustered, convincing neither of them. "We'll find KOS-MOS, and everything will be okay again."

"Mm."

"Nothing's written in stone!" he continued cheerily. "E-except for the things that... _are_ written in stone. But we can laser those off!"

Not even remotely optimistic, she thanked him and pushed every thought of KOS-MOS out of her head. KOS-MOS—Mary—definitely belonged in the category Shion didn't want to think about at the moment. And while Allen understood that, Shion felt like he didn't.

She politely excused herself from the bridge, bid Allen and the Captain a good night, then stopped by the lounge for a protein bar.

The second she was back in her room, her boots were off, her jacket was being tossed to the nearest flat surface, and the protein bar was halfway down her throat.

She froze when she noticed Jin was in bed already, reading what seemed to be a strategy guide of some sort.

Absolutely mentally exhausted, she almost cracked under the mounting pressure in her head.

So she tried slipping into a near-comatose state, switching to auto-pilot.

"What are you reading?" she asked mindlessly, trying to distract herself from the internal noise.

He took one look at her and seemed to read her perfectly.

"HaKox walkthrough," he lied.

Oddly, the auto-pilot within her shut off instantly.

The grin twisting her lips was real. "Cheater."

"Must take down that mysterious ShionX," he countered easily, placing the book on a nightstand.

She nibbled on the rest of her protein bar, leaning against his bedpost and wondering why she was speaking to _him_ like they were partners.

"You're welcome to try," she challenged.

And then the noise was gone.

* * *

024.

* * *

He'd decided.

For years now, he'd known.

It hadn't been denial, not exactly. chaos had noticed. Jr. had noticed. Sometimes he thought KOS-MOS had been aware, as well.

As a boy, he'd read the story of Orpheus and wondered why the man couldn't obey the only requirement Hades and Persephone had given him—to not look back. When he read about Izanagi and Izanami, Jin wondered why even a _god_ could not follow the simplest of instructions. Why neither god nor man could discern between right and wrong.

It wasn't until Pellegri—one rainy morning after—had asked him who '_this_ _Shion_' was that he started to understand. And if it had been Pellegri who'd ultimately ended his life, instead of the other way around, she would've probably felt vindicated.

After all, his last word, his last thought, had been 'Shion.'

So.

Among the evils of the universe—the broken alliances, the Gnosis, the death and destruction—there was another he needed to protect her from.

Himself.

"Real beds," she mused, unbuttoning her shirt.

"Nm," he shrugged slightly. "Real beds respond to gravity."

"Grandpa's house had real beds," she agreed, one sock slipping off.

He yawned, the memory of soft pillows and coverlets making him sleepy. "Yet he always slept on a futon."

"Depriving the body," she recited, "feeding the mind."

Jin chuckled, stretching into his covers.

"Clearly," he teased, "you assumed he was using reverse psychology."

She glanced at the half-eaten protein bar, then blushed furiously.

The slow burn was back, so he held up a hand.

"You were his favorite," he said, preempting her tirade.

"Not that he had a great selection to choose from," she sighed, slipping off her other sock.

"I'm... going to pretend that comment wasn't insulting to me," he deadpanned.

Shion grinned, letting her hair down.

He quickly looked away.

Which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

"I suppose that makes us even," she admitted effortlessly as she sprawled beside him.

Instead of protesting or feeling awkward and guilty, he let her snuggle up before he said, "For now."

"Nn. _You're_ good at pretending, Jin," came the muffled reply.

Her breath tickled his neck.

"Was there ethanol in that protein bar?" he asked at once.

"What, why?" she asked.

"Because you're _sniffing_ me," he replied incredulously.

Did they really experience the horror on Lost Jerusalem mere hours ago? Was she broken? Was _he_? What could've happened in the half hour they'd been apart to make this situation feel _not_ surreal? Certainly, extreme situations produced extreme reactions, but—

"Sorry," she said, cheeks pink, but her tone was mostly unapologetic.

He frowned at her.

"If you weren't so _old_," she continued, "I would've done this when I was little. It's called overcompensation."

No, it was called insane.

But he found himself loosely wrapping an arm around her anyway.

"You would have read me stories," she mumbled into his neck.

"Hn."

"And bought me ice-cream."

"Hn."

"And taught me how to read."

"I did teach you how to read," he protested.

"Giving me a book for my birthday... when I was _twelve_... doesn't exactly count, Jin."

"Hn."

"You should've told me not to date boys," she carried on demandingly, drawing circles on his chest. "Though there weren't many. Or... any."

"Hn."

"Let's see... what else would a good brother have done?"

"Disabled your vocal cords?"

Her knee dug into his side.

"And your fine motor skills," he added, cringing.

She was suddenly serious.

"Jin," she questioned. "Did you do something stupid?"

"Wore a loincloth once."

But she wasn't smiling. "Please?"

This went beyond protecting her. Beyond his personal mission. Beyond what he vehemently hoped was just a brother's love.

"I did the right thing, Shion," he replied, stomach twisting with unease.

She bore her eyes into his.

And he knew, without a doubt, that she wouldn't ask.

"I would have taken you to amusements parks, right?" he tilted his head inquisitively.

She looked almost... grateful.

"Yes. And you would've taken me along on a mission or two."

"Brothers don't do that."

"Good ones do."

"Sane ones don't."

She smiled, lowering her head back to his side. "You're sane?"

He evaluated the situation.

"I suppose that's debatable," he concluded.

"Right," she sighed. "After all, sanity doesn't exactly run in the family."

"Not ours, no."

After a short silence, she stirred. "So. Three times, huh?"

He wished he could've said he had no idea what she was referring to, but...

"It's becoming disconcerting, yes," he acknowledged. "You're not a child."

She tensed next to him. "I don't mind."

Unfortunately, neither did he.

"You would," he told her, "if someone were to see."

She didn't say anything, and she didn't move, for the longest time. Then, softly, as though her muscles were not working properly, she dug her chin into his skin, staring up at him. "You're my brother."

Oddly irritated, he tugged on her hair. "Brothers do not generally do this, Shion."

"Really?" she said, but in the air between them, there was a lingering sense of _'I know.'_

Except, she _didn't_ know.

He'd failed to protect her from everything else—an unspeakable childhood, becoming orphaned, a homicidal fiancé—so perhaps it was only natural that he should fail again.

She was looking at him as though she genuinely wanted to know.

So he kissed her.


End file.
